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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766157">Don’t Threaten Me with a Good Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hale13/pseuds/Hale13'>Hale13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whump Bingo 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Broken Bones, Human Disaster Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Whump, Whump Bingo, Whumptober</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:29:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26766157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hale13/pseuds/Hale13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Even on his best days Peter can be a complete disaster human.  There’s no spider bite or super powers that can change that.</p><p>(For Bingo space B4 - Moving in a way that causes them pain and tensing up against it)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whump Bingo 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Don’t Threaten Me with a Good Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yes, I know, all the Panic! Titles are a problem.  I’m working on it.</p><p>This one is shorter than all the others but I’m kinda liking having a quick and easy write.  Besides, the one I’m considering posting for my free space is over 15,000 words and not even close to being done.  Please send help.</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ouch!  Maybe don’t move that way Mr. Stark.”</p><p> </p><p>“We have to move <em>that way</em> Pete.  The bed is <em>that way</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you being mean?  Don’t be mean to me!  I’m injured!”</p><p> </p><p>“And whose fault is that?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter tensed his abdominal muscles in preparation for sitting on the free cot in the MedBay and gasped in a breath that he let out in a hiss as Mr. Stark gently helped him perch on the edge of the bed.  To be fair, Mr. Stark was correct, this was all Peter’s fault.</p><p> </p><p>It had actually started out as a pretty good day; Peter had made it to school with enough time to spare to take advantage of the free breakfast – a blessing for teenage boys with enhanced metabolisms who felt like their stomachs were literally black holes.  Since he had mistaken the date of his AP calculus exam, he had extra time to study and he could just feel that he had aced it.  Flash had been out sick so Peter hadn’t spent his whole physics lecture ignoring his Spidey Sense when random bits of paper and other miscellaneous trash were thrown at the back of his head.  He was even on time for decathlon, earning him a rare smile from MJ.</p><p> </p><p>And, the best part, Mr. Stark had picked him up from school himself and they were headed to the compound for the weekend to mess around in the lab with the new nanotechnology Mr. Stark had developed.</p><p> </p><p>Their banter was light and fun in the car, throwing fries that they had picked up from a fast food joint back and forth and fighting over the radio the entirety of the one and a half hour drive the compound.  The roughhousing hadn’t stopped once they got to the workshop but had lightened up a fair bit.  In fact, Peter was so absorbed in the snarking and the holo-screen showing a magnified version of the nanites that he hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going. </p><p> </p><p>And tripped over his bag, abandoned in the middle of the floor.</p><p> </p><p>Peter was so shocked that his reaction, while fast, was maybe not the best for the situation.  He had caught himself on the edge of the table and the rolling stool he had been sitting on.  And, well, the stool had wheels and had rolled and tipped. </p><p> </p><p>And Peter had fallen on the steel bar connecting the stool top to the bottom and had, sickeningly, felt something crunch.</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Stark had been stuck somewhere between laughing and fussing over Peter, lying on the floor with a blush on his face and clenching his eyes shut in pain, and had decided that the best course of action was a trip to the MedBay for radiographs once Peter told him about the crunch and he had observed the, already purpling, bruising on Peter’s side.</p><p> </p><p>So that’s where they were now, Peter perched on the edge of the bed, taking shallow, even breaths to lessen the pain and Mr. Stark standing in front of him with a worried look on his face.  The nurse they had passed in the hallway was going to find Dr. Cho, still in the compound but preparing to leave in the next few days after a conference on cellular regeneration that she presented at earlier in the week.  Lucky for Peter since she was the one that had run all of the DNA and blood tests and had helped Mr. Stark synthesize the majority of his medications and was, therefore, the most familiar with his specific needs.</p><p> </p><p>“This is a terrible way to rate pain, but scale of one to ten?” Mr. Stark asked, helping Peter adjust to sit against the head of the bed, moving the pillows around to support his back better.</p><p> </p><p>“Just sitting here?  Maybe a four.  Any movement?  A six,” Peter told him, wrapping his right arm around his middle to protect his tender ribs.  Mr. Stark just gave a hum of commiseration.</p><p> </p><p>“Once Helen’s had a chance to take a look we can get you some of your meds.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think I’d rather just deal with the pain,” Peter muttered.  The oral pain meds made him sleepy and foggy and he always felt really stupid on them, like his brain was just mush.  The injectable version?  Peter might as well be brain dead.</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t even take a full breath,” Mr. Stark told him pointedly.  “I know you have a healing factor but this is how people end up with pneumonia.”  Peter just groaned and didn’t dignify that with a response.</p><p> </p><p>“Well if it isn’t my favorite patient,” Dr. Cho said brightly as she entered the room, rubbing her hands together to dry the hand sanitizer she had just squirted on them.  “It’s always great to see you, Peter, but can’t we meet anywhere else?” She joked as she pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves.  “So you messed up your ribs?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kid said he heard a crunch,” Mr. Stark told her helpfully.  Peter glared at him but didn’t dispute what he was saying, choosing instead to start wiggling carefully out of his t-shirt to give Dr. Cho access to his rib cage.  “And he hasn’t taken a full breath since.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well let me palpate first and then we can decide if we even need to to rads,” Helen told them, moving over to the left side of Peter’s bed.  “You honestly heal so fast that, unless its obviously displaced, we’ll probably just tape it for a few days until you can move without it hurting.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter tensed up again, removing his arm from supporting his side and willing himself to stay still an not dodge out of the way of Dr. Cho’s hands.  He let out a strangled groan as she gently felt down the side of his rib cage.</p><p> </p><p>“Tensing is only going to make it hurt worse,” she told him bluntly, continuing her slow trend downward.  Peter knew that but it was hard to just stop anticipating the pain.  After a few minutes of breathing slowly and holding in as many of the hisses and groans as he could, Helen finished her exam and snapped the gloves off of her hands, tossing them in the medical waste container.</p><p> </p><p>“Well the good news is they aren’t displaced,” Dr. Cho told them both, picking up the chart she had dropped on the desk next to Peter’s bed.  “The bad news is that you have definitely cracked Ribs 6 and 7 on your left side.  You both know the drill with this: I’m going to tape them up and you just need to rest them for the next few days until they’re healed.  No Spider-Manning and if the pain gets worse you need to let someone know.”</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Cho went to the shelves containing supplies and pulled down some waterproof tape and keyed in her code on the medication cabinet and pulled out a blue pill vial.  “I know you don’t want to,” Dr. Cho started at Peter’s venomous gaze on the bottle, “but pain control is really important in healing.  You can take one tablet every eight hours as needed.  If you aren’t really painful you can back it off to every twelve hours.” She knocked one of the pills out of the bottle and into Peter’s hand and passed him a cup of water.  “Bottoms up,” she said, handing the bottle over to Tony who pocketed it.</p><p> </p><p>“Give that about twenty minutes to take effect and I’ll be back to tape you up,” Dr. Cho told them, bustling out of the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t sulk,” Mr. Stark said, pulling out his phone and opening up his texting app.  Peter made a face at him, relaxing back into the pillows behind him.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you telling May?”</p><p> </p><p>“Is the sky blue?” Mr. Stark responded.  “Your Aunt and I have an understanding; I tell her everything and she doesn’t chop my balls off to keep in a jar on her mantle.”</p><p> </p><p>“Gross Mr. Stark,” Peter complained, closing his eyes.  Maybe it was the placebo effect but he was already feeling sleepy and pliant.  Things were pretty quiet after that, the silence only interrupted by Tony’s typing and the sound of his phone vibrating as, presumably, May responded.</p><p> </p><p>“How are you feeling?” Dr. Cho asked, poking her head into the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Tired,” answered Peter honestly with the slightest edge of a slur to his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“That means its working,” Dr. Cho told him, tapping the side of her nose and grabbing a fresh pair of gloves to pull on.  “But I more meant how was your pain?  Manageable?  Are you able to take a full breath?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter had to think on it for a second, his thoughts slow and meandering.  “It’s manageable and I can breathe fine,” he told her, taking as deep a breath as he dared to demonstrate.  Dr. Cho nodded as she measured the tape against his rib cage and started tearing strips before gently taping him up.  Peter zoned out and didn’t really come back to awareness until Mr. Stark started to gently shake his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>“Rise and shine bambino,” his mentor said brightly, raising the bed up slightly from its more reclined position.  “Have a good nap?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmm,” Peter groaned ineloquently, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and middle finger.  “Times it?” He asked in a grunt.</p><p> </p><p>“About 7:30, you’ve been sleeping for a little over an hour.  Pepper brought Italian from that one place in the city you like, feel up to eating?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sounds good,” Peter mumbled, brain slow and foggy from the pain meds and sleep.  He was a little more uncoordinated than normal, but Mr. Stark helped him carefully maneuver out of the bed without inciting any more than an aching twinge from his ribs.  Luckily, he was able to make it upstairs to the kitchen table under his own power.</p><p> </p><p>“How are you feeling Peter,” Ms. Potts asked him with a kind smile.  Peter really liked Ms. Potts, she was always really nice to him and was super helpful with getting his actual internship set up with Stark Industries as a cover story.  She had even given him her personal number for emergencies (Peter had replayed the favor by sending her pictures of the cute dogs he saw on patrol - Ms. Potts was a dog person but didn’t have time for animals of her own).</p><p> </p><p>“I’m okay,” Peter told her, his head was swimming a little still and he could hear the slightest bit of a slur on the end of his sentence and blushed.</p><p> </p><p>“The kids high as hell,” Tony told her bluntly, mirth shining in his eyes.  “Don’t ask him anything too complicated at dinner or you might just break what’s left of his brain.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Mr. Stark</em>,” Peter whined in response but he couldn’t really argue the point.  The pain meds did make him ‘high as hell’.  Thank <em>god</em> it was the weekend; hopefully he would be able to ditch the meds before Monday or he would not be making it through his classes awake.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t harass him Tony,” Ms. Potts scolded as she put a plate of Peter’s favorite spaghetti carbonara down in front of him (it wasn’t as good as what Mr. Stark would make on occasion but it was a close second) and ran her fingers softly through his hair.  “Eat up kiddo, nothing’s better than carbs when you’re drugged up,” she told him matter of factly.  “Once you’re done we can make a nest of blankets on the couch and have that John Hughes movie marathon we keep talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Stark spluttered.  “Are you stealing my intern when there’s still science to be done?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yep.  He likes me more anyway,” Ms. Potts said with a smile, winking discreetly at Peter who nearly snorted the pasta he was inhaling out of his nose before shooting Mr. Stark a forlorn look.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s true,” Peter confirmed, patting Mr. Stark’s shoulder consolingly.  “But if you ask nicely we might let you join us.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh how kind of you,” Mr. Stark said rolling his eyes.  “Allowing me to join you in the living room of the compound I bought watching my movies on the holo-screen projector I created.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re givers, what can we say,” Ms. Potts told him magnanimously, taking a sip of her red wine and smirking at the scoffs of her fiancée.</p><p> </p><p>In the end, Peter was cuddled up next to Mr. Stark and half watching the movies blearily while his mentor and Ms. Potts quoted lines back and forth and tossed popcorn around like high schoolers in their pajamas.  When Peter woke up later in the night, warm and comfortable with 16 Candles playing quietly on the screen, both adults had passed out in a tangle of, what seemed to be, every blanket in the compound.  Peter just smiled and curled back up with his head pillowed on Mr. Stark’s lap and fell asleep.</p><p> </p><p>Broken ribs or not, it was the best sleep he had in months.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don’t have a tumblr but join me over on Twitter @Hale1310 - I just set it up and I’m looking for some prompts to combine with these bingo prompts and for separate stories!</p><p>I hope you enjoyed!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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